


The Ballad of Bonnie and Steve

by rhombus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Extended Scene, F/F, F/M, Fluid Sexuality, M/M, POV Bisexual Character, POV Female Character, POV Minor Character, Pining, Pre-Slash, Sexual Content, and they both fail spectacularly, in which the author tries to give steve's date a reason to not like steve, what a weird twisted love letter to steven grant rogers this turned out to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1561139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhombus/pseuds/rhombus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She couldn't say exactly why it was so important to her, but she made a promise to herself as she walked home on sore feet after her shift, that for Connie's sake alone, she absolutely was not, under no circumstances, no-siree Bob, in no way ever, going to like Steve Rogers.</p><p>Or: The untold story of Steve and Bonnie's expo date, and how it didn't end in dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballad of Bonnie and Steve

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I keep writing stories set in the 1940s, I am terrible at Wikipedia. If anyone who knows better wants to correct anything anachronistic, please do.
> 
> Look, I've decided that Bonnie is one of the most fascinating people in the Marvel Cinematic Universe because HOW? WHY? NO LIKE STEVE? EXPLAIN.
> 
> Let me see your dimensions, Bonnie. Tell me your secrets. I want to hold you close and protect you.

 

The thing about Baker's Boxcar Diner on a Saturday afternoon was it could really do a number on your feet. Bonnie had been up and down the little tin box more times than a car around a racetrack, felt just as dinged up, too, and the lunch crowd had only just thinned down to a few men in too-big suits and threadbare ties, sipping slowly on coffee and reading the back pages of the newspaper.

She caught her breath behind the counter, tried stretching her aching toes to the tips of her shoes, and smoothed down the front of her dress, frowning at the coffee stain over her right boob.

It was gonna be hell to wash out, with the added bonus in the meantime of acting as target practice for the handsy louts that barged in after their early shifts, usually reeking of sweat and fish and too much booze for three in the afternoon.

She waved goodbye to the last of the sad sack coffee-and-want-ads gents, glad for the quiet and the chance to rest, and took a deep, grateful breath. Which was when Constanza practically twirled into the diner with her fella, she with her crisp red dress and bright red lips, he decked out in his tailored Army greens, cap tucked under his arm, both with goofy, lovestruck grins on their faces. It was sweet, bordering on sickly, but she loved Connie enough to be happy for her, even if she felt like a greasy piece of chewed up gristle in comparison just then.

"Bonnie Amelia Drake," Connie announced, plopping herself on one of the stools at the counter, while her soldier sauntered down to the three-slot payphone Mr. Baker put in last year. "You are just the girl I need."

Bonnie sighed, but not unhappily. It was impossible to give in to exhaustion when Constanza Grimaldi smiled at you that way, with all her straight white teeth, her dimples, her bright brown eyes. Walking sunshine, is what she was, and Bonnie'd been cooped up in this dingy cramped box all day.

"All right," she said, tucking a limp strand of hair, escaped from her bun, behind her ear. "Whatcha need?"

"I am so, _so_ sorry to do this to you, but you gotta come out with me and Bucky tonight."

"Aw Connie, I'm a little tired."

"We're gonna go to the expo, then go dancing!"

Her arches ached just thinking about it. "You know I've been on my feet all day."

Connie leaned forward on the counter, made her eyes go big and round and puppy-dog sweet. " _Pleeeeeease_ , Bon-Bons? I promise you'll have fun. It's impossible not to have fun with Bucky." Color bloomed on her cheeks like rosebuds, and goodness, but she was smitten with the guy.

Bonnie could hear him on the phone, that easy slide of his voice that she admitted to herself was not unappealing. "Hey, Mac, run up a message to Steve for me, would ya?"

"Why do you need me to go with you?" Bonnie asked.

Connie rolled her eyes, picked at the formica counter as if she could peel up the little black patterns in it and rub them between her fingers. "'Cause Bucky won't go without his friend. That little guy, you know? The one who pinches up his face like he's ready to fight with anyone who sneezes wrong."

"Yell up the fire escape. Window's probably open, he'll hear ya." Bucky again, voice getting a little more firm. "He's not? How do you know that?"

Bonnie hated that phone. Sure, it brought in more customers, but then they were standing in the way more often than not, and trying to skirt around them with two plates of eggs and a carafe of coffee was how she ended up with constant stains that needed scrubbing in the first place.

"I still don't see where I fit in," she said, absently wiping the clean counter with a wet cloth.

"Yes you do." Connie thwacked her sweetly on the arm. "Bonnie Amelia Drake, I need you. I love you like a sister, and I need you to do this for me. Kiss this one frog, this one time. That's all I'm asking."

"First of all, I am kissing no one. Secondly—" She couldn't think of a secondly, but only because Connie had kept her hand on her arm, was playing with the sleeve of her waitressing dress.

Bucky was still chattering away in the background. "Oh... Oh... Mm hmm... Okay... Yeah. I forgot... He's probably already there, huh?"

"Secondly," Connie took up for her, voice like a snake charmer's flute, "you are gonna come out with me and Bucky and Bucky's friend Steve tonight and it's gonna be out of this world. Maybe you can even teach Super Serious Steve how to actually have a little fun, though I doubt it."

Bonnie blew out a breath and knew she was halfway done for.

"Look." Connie leaned in even further, lowered her voice to just above a whisper. "I know you're not gonna marry this guy. No one's gonna marry this guy. He's a stick with or without the mud, but I don't want to disappoint Bucky, you know? He won't go without Steve, and I won't go without Bucky." She pouted her lips. "It's his last night."

It wasn't what Bonnie wanted to hear, but it was all she was given. And if there had ever been a time in her life when she could say no to Connie-on-a-mission, she wondered how, because right about now it seemed impossible, no matter how beat she was.

"Okay…" Bucky was saying behind them. "Yeah… No, tell your ma thanks for me, and for Steve too, would ya? All right." The click of the earpiece falling back into the cradle was loud and final.

"Fine," Bonnie said, lowering her voice to match Connie's. "I'll go. For you."

Connie sat back and hopped up and down in her seat. "Good. Because I wasn't gonna go without _you_ , either," she whispered, and Bonnie's cheeks smarted with the stretch of her sudden smile.

Big hands drummed against the counter, breaking the spell. "Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie," Bucky said. His lower lip was tucked under his front teeth; for a moment he looked like a little boy playing dress up with his pop's uniform. He'd laid his cap down on the formica, and his slightly disheveled hair only added to the picture.

"Hiya, Bucky."

"Mah little Bonnie lass!" Said with perhaps the worst attempt at a Scottish accent Bonnie had ever heard, and she couldn't help but laugh. He could go from stoic G.I. to goofy charmer in the blink of an eye, and it was no wonder all the girls he'd gone with never said a bad word about him after they split. And she'd asked, no doubt about it. No one was getting near Connie without a thorough vetting first. Apparently James Barnes, despite having a bit of the scoundrel about his grin—and a questionable taste in friends, if Connie's apologies were warranted—was a stand-up guy.

"At ease, soldier," Connie said, stifling a giggle. "She already said yes."

Bucky smacked his hand against the counter. "Hot dog! That's great. You're not gonna regret it. You know my friend Steve? Maybe you don't, doesn't matter. Greatest guy in the world. No, I mean it. Greatest guy in the _whole_ world." It didn't even seem like he had time to take a breath between sentences, but it wasn't stopping him. "Sharp as a tack. He's an artist, too. You should see his drawings. Wouldn't believe someone could have so much talent hidden in their bones. What else? He's great with kids, and dogs, and cats, and pretty much anything small and cute." He winked at her; she couldn't stop the blush, hard as she tried. "Never lets anyone get away with shi— nonsense. Stands up for people, you know? Never lets anyone get pushed around, not under his watch. Generous, too. Always trying to help out with the neighbors. This one time—"

Bonnie was only half paying attention at this point. She was more preoccupied with watching Connie, the way her giggles quickly dwindled down to nothing. The way she clamped her hands together in her lap, the small smile on her face, too tight around the edges, the way the light in her eyes kept dimming just the tiniest bit the longer Bucky went on and on.

It all made Bonnie's jaw twitch with some unnameable feeling.

"—and I don't know from Adam, but I've heard some fine, upstanding ladies call him something of a looker. Said if they weren't already happily married, and the like." There were stars in his eyes. It didn't sit right. They should've been planted in the night sky by Connie.

Connie, who huffed out a breath next to him, rested a cheek on the delicate curl of her fist. "She already said yes, Bucky. Don't gotta sell it so hard."

"I ain't selling nothing. God's honest truth." He held up both hands in front of him. "If you don't end the night thinking Steve Rogers is the swellest guy you've ever met, I'll eat my hat." He punctuated this promise by sweeping his cap off the counter and onto his head in one smooth move, cheeky grin firm in place. "Promised I'd see a picture with him, and I'm late. Too many beautiful distractions around here." Another wink. "Luckily he's the forgiving type, too."

Connie rolled her eyes again. Bonnie felt something uneasy twist in her chest and didn't know what to do about it, except paste a smile on her face and pretend going out with Steve Rogers wasn't the last thing she wanted to do, tonight or ever.

 

She couldn't say exactly why it was so important to her, but she made a promise to herself as she walked home on sore feet after her shift, that for Connie's sake alone, she absolutely was not, under no circumstances, no-siree Bob, in no way ever, going to like Steve Rogers.

 

Then she met Steve Rogers. And it turned out he was funny, in a wry sort of way. And he wasn't all that bad to look at, when his face wasn't pinched. And downright sweet looking when he smiled.

And it turned out she kind of liked Steve Rogers after all.

Which was _infuriating_.

 

There were so many other reasons to dislike him, she was sure. The way he always kept his hands in his pockets. It made him look shiftless. She was on her feet all day at everyone's beck and call and she absolutely could not abide shiftlessness in a fella.

 

He looked at Bucky a lot, when he thought no one was watching. Almost as much as Bucky looked at him. That was… that was a reason. That was actually a reason.

 

And it was true, Steve's smile was a nice one, but when he wasn't smiling he looked as miserable as a cat in the rain. His… his clothes sagged. And after Bonnie had gone to all the trouble to re-curl her hair and put on a fresh face, his crooked tie was frankly insulting.

 

Peanuts?

Sure, she was hungry, and yes, she'd mentioned how good the peanuts smelled at the stand earlier, but still.

Peanuts! The greatest inventor of their time was showing them the greatest thing they'd ever likely see in their lives and all Steve Rogers could do was continue to be generous and thoughtful and _infuriating_.

 

Thankfully, by the grace of some higher power, Steve ditched them all anyway.

Which didn't smart. At all.

No really, it didn't.

It _didn't._

 

"See." Connie leaned into her, smelling of popcorn and flowery perfume. "Told you you wouldn't like him." Steve and Bucky were outside the recruiting center, and it looked like they were arguing. Bonnie found herself smiling at that.

"And yet you insisted I come out anyway," she said wryly.

"You'll still come dancing with us, right? Even without Tiny Tim?"

"I dunno, Con. It's been a long day."

Connie grabbed her by the hand, squeezed tight. "Bucky's a tip-top dancer. And it's his last night! Don't you think he should get to walk into the dance hall with the two prettiest girls this side of the river on his arms?"

"You really want me there? Won't I be in the way?"

" _Never_ ," Connie said quietly, but not without intensity. "No matter what, you're my number one."

Bonnie didn't know what that meant, couldn't even possibly begin to guess, or explain why it made her heart squeeze up. "Me too," she said, without knowing why, just knowing that she meant it, meant it more than anything.

It was the scariest thing she'd ever felt.

Connie wrapped an arm around her back, crushed her into a quick half-hug.

"Good, it's settled. We're going dancing." Her smile was brighter than fireworks in the night sky, and the fear settled in Bonnie's stomach, stayed there buzzing like a bee trapped in a window.

 

"Come on girls," Bucky said, practically skipping toward them. "They're playing our song."

"So your friend's not coming?" Connie said it with such innocent ease, but Bonnie could read her, had always been able to. This was Constanza with a bone to pick. This was Constanza raring for a fight, because when you were fighting her, she at least knew you cared enough to.

"He's got something he's got to do."

"That's too bad. Bonnie was so looking forward to dancing with him." Connie looked up at Bucky with big, angelic eyes, tucked under his arm as they walked. "Kinda rude of him, isn't it, to leave his girl in the lurch like that? You would never be such a crumb."

"Hey now." Bucky stopped, pulled his arm away. There was warning in his voice, solid as a wall, and Bonnie watched Connie narrow her eyes at him, cross her arms, scowl. "That's my best friend you're talking about."

"That doesn't make him any less of a drip, and you know it."

"I mean it, Con. Cut it out. You don't know anything about Steve."

"I know _you_ think he's the greatest thing put on this earth, but that don't make it so, just you thinking that."

"What's gotten in to you? I thought we were having a good time."

"I thought so too. That's why I didn't ditch you when you weren't looking, unlike some people."

"Look." Bucky tilted his head back and sighed through his nose. "I don't want to fight about this again, okay?"

_Again?_

Bonnie stood awkwardly beside them and wondered. Steve Rogers could step between her friend and happiness without even trying, couldn't he? Slipped right in, with no one else to hold him back.

"Let's just go," Connie was saying, resigned maybe, and still a little mad.

Maybe someone should hold him back for once. Maybe someone could look after him a while so Bucky wouldn't feel the need to.

Maybe that anxious feeling squirming around in Bonnie's stomach eased a little bit at the thought. Let Connie have Bucky all to herself for once. Let someone else look after her a while so Bonnie wouldn't feel the need to.

"Why don't you two go on," Bonnie said. She tightened her hands into fists until her fingernails dug into skin. "I'll go back and wait for Steve, and we'll catch up with you in a jiffy."

Connie looked stricken. Like someone had taken her favorite pet away. "Bonnie, no."

"No, that's a good idea," Bucky said, and Bonnie could feel the gratitude flow off him like steam through a grate. It'd put an end to the fight, at least. "Steve'll be out soon. They won't take him anyway, and he'll need a good distraction. You're a real swell gal, Bonnie Drake. You and Steve, you're a pair, all right. I knew it. Too good for the rest of us."

"But Bucky—" Connie whined.

"C'mon, Con, I've been promised a dance with the most beautiful girl in New York, haven't I?" He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss. She blushed ever so prettily in the soft ambient light of the fairgrounds.

"Come right over," Connie said to her, even as her eyes stayed firmly on Bucky. "We'll wait for you."

"No you won't," Bonnie replied, with a small laugh. It hit her lungs like a punch, that laugh. _You shouldn't_ , she thought but didn't say.

 

It really was only a few minutes before Steve wandered out of the recruitment building, a half-sheet of paper in his hands, and he couldn't stop staring at it in some combination of astonishment and determination.

"Steve," she said, waving him over.

"Oh. Um." His eyebrows shot up and he shoved the paper in his pocket as if it were full of state secrets. "Oh."

"Walk me home?"

"I thought you were going dancing."

She shrugged. "I'd rather you walk me home."

 

They didn't speak to each other the entire way to the train, nor on the eight-block walk from the station to the apartment she shared with Connie. Which was fine.

 

She closed the door behind him, showed him where to hang his coat.

"It's, uh, a nice place." He looked flustered. More than anything, he looked angry at himself. For not being able to be the guy he wanted to be, probably.

She liked him, this Steve Rogers.

 

"I think I like you." She leaned back against the wall by the door, watched him turn this way and that, hands shoved in his pockets—always, always in his pockets.

He laughed—a hard, disbelieving sound, like he was being tricked and knew it. "I really thought you didn't."

Bonnie only shrugged. And it came to her, then, how she'd never even thought about it the other way around. "Do you like me?"

"I don't, uh, really know you."

"You think I'm pretty, right?"

"You're—beautiful." He got caught on the word, it seemed, swallowed it down, almost choked on it. "But that can't be everything."

No, it couldn't be everything.

But tonight? Tonight maybe it would be enough. She liked him and he thought she was probably more than beautiful.

In the semi-dark of the room she reached down and stripped off her heels, bringing them to a height with one another. A little crease formed between his brows, like he wasn't sure if she was kicking him out or inviting him closer. She liked that about him, too.

"Come here," she said softly. He hesitated, bit his lip, fought with himself. Connie had said he was one for fighting. Looked like he wasn't one for backing down either.

He came to her, eventually, breath caught and color high.

She took hold of his wrist, brought his hand to her chest, longed for a moment for the coffee stained dress so he'd have that easy target. His touch was light, hesitant at first, but grew more assured when she pressed him closer, covered his hand with hers, cupped the swell of her breast through the thin fabric of her dress.

"What?" he said, still breathless, just as she leaned in planted her lips on his, slotted her mouth right up against the word and swallowed it. He clutched at her breast harder, probably a reflex, but oh, it felt good. Primal and desperate and claiming.

One hand stayed on his, keeping him in place, encouraging him to pinch and knead until her nipple firmed up, tightened and pulled in pleasure from all sides of her. She shoved her other hand up under her dress, tugged at her panties until they fell to her ankles and she could easily kick them off.

She liked him. He thought she was beautiful. He was kissing her and it felt as nice as it always had, those times she'd found herself in the back of some boy's family barn after school in Indiana.

Found his other hand—there it was, cupping her jaw so sweetly—and guided it to her skirt.

"You don't—" Steve pulled back, gripped and let go of her skirt compulsively. "I don't need your pity."

That wasn't it. That wasn't it at all. How to make him _understand?_

"Please. Connie won't be home for a while. Please, just touch me."

A look came over him—suckerpunched and sad and just enough recognition to make her think, yes, he understands. He understands.

She liked him. She liked him enough to forget how much she loved _her_.

 

She lifted a knee, pulling her skirt tight to her skin, and it felt good, felt like being touched everywhere. Curled her leg around Steve's hip, kept him close, pulled him deeper.

Bucky'd called him an artist, said there was talent in his bones, and oh, oh yes, those were an artist's fingers all right, slim and sure and precise and oh, oh, _oh_.

 

He nudged up against her leg while he kissed her neck, sloppy and unfocused, while his fingers pushed inside her. Short little cants of his hip, like he was politely tapping on someone's door. She could feel his prick, hard and firm along her thigh, slipped a hand down, gripped him through his trousers. He stuttered in his movements, lips and hips and fingers all, but only for a moment, found his rhythm again, moaned into her skin with that deep voice of his that sent shockwaves of pleasure straight to her cunt.

She urged his head up with her free hand, kissed him hard, kissed him like she wanted him to swallow her down and make her disappear inside of him.

His thumb found her clit—finally, finally, she thought, a little madly—and _oh_ , that was it, that was _it_. Her back arched off the wall and her head snapped up and she clamped down around Steve's fingers as everything tightened and whitened and the world went blissfully blank. Pleasure crested and rushed through every nerve in her body until it finally left her sagging against the wall, lightheaded, limbs tingling, and satisfied.

Steve was a warm, comforting weight against her, head tucked in against her neck, letting out short, raspy breaths. She absently felt for his prick again, rubbed up against a wet stain on the front of his slacks, and smiled sleepily against his hair.

 

Afterward, Bonnie cleaned herself up as best she could, sat herself on the windowsill, basking in the cool night breeze, and lit a cigarette. Steve had his back against the wall where she'd left him, hair mussed, lipstick-stained, a little dazed.

"It's Bucky, isn't it?" she said, looking out into the night through a veil of blue-gray smoke.

"What?"

"For you." She brought the cigarette to her mouth again, took a deep drag. "It's Bucky."

"Don't know what you're talking about." He looked down at his shoes. Wouldn't look at her.

"Yes you do. But I'll pretend you don't, if it makes you feel better." She was good at pretending, too.

He didn't respond. Just watched her smoke her cigarette until it was nothing more than a stub, then left, quietly, out the front door.

She liked him. Steve Rogers. She thought about him outside the recruiting office, stuffing the enlistment form in his pocket before she could see it, and hoped the world wasn't too rough on him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Now, they didn't talk all that much, so Steve's conversation with Peggy can still be practically the longest he's ever had with a beautiful dame—woman!
> 
> Disclaimer: I in no way intended the explanation for Bonnie not liking Steve to be as simple as, "Must be a lesbian." I hope it comes across a lot more... complex than that? She likes Steve, she really does, and she liked having sex with Steve, too. But Steve joined the army and fell in love and died and that's the end of the ballad of Bonnie and Steve.


End file.
